


La Belle et la Bête

by thaumatomane (choosedailymail)



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Community: jsmn-kinkmeme, Flirting, M/M, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:41:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7200326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choosedailymail/pseuds/thaumatomane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a room abundant with glittering jewels, another was easily overlooked; to Drawlight, someone as unique and improper as John Childermass was nothing but arresting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Belle et la Bête

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kinkmeme prompt: http://jsmn-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1273.html?thread=944377#cmt944377
> 
> "Book!Drawlight has a huge crush on Childermass and is utterly shameless about letting it be known. Childermass sort of reciprocates but feels very embarrassed and guilty about it because Drawlight is so much younger and smaller than him. He doesn't want to be a creepy pervert like Lascelles! But..."

Much like a magpie, Christopher Drawlight was the sort of creature enticed by beautiful things. He adorned his person with fobs, chains, rings, quizzers and anything that supported his rather splendid aesthetic. Within his pockets a great number of items could be found to polish and handle during dull conversation appertaining to anything other than current fashions. Naturally, with Drawlight’s (private) financial difficulties, few of the glittering objects he bedizened himself with were authentic. For instance, the stones mounting the rim of his quizzing glass were imitation, his timepiece in dire need of repair, and much of the gold in his possession was in truth merely polished brass. Therefore Drawlight’s charade was paramount, as why would one with such a fastidious nature waste any of his valuable time in admiration of something undeserving? That Christopher Drawlight had made a name for himself within a society far above his station was proof he had a talent for the theatrical; in addition to his enjoyed notoriety as a coxcomb, he was quite the remarkable actor.

John Childermass could spot a liar at ten paces but would not immediately notice if a silver cane-topper was plated rather than sterling, nor did he particularly care. The inquiries he made about Drawlight when he first arrived in London revealed more about the miniature man than his baubled appearance ever would. Drawlight was popular, extravagant and would talk the hind leg off of any animal providing it had some gossip or opportunity of use to him. He was also a prolific gambler, laden with debt, and entirely harmless.

There were many peculiarities of Drawlight’s character that no one but Childermass seemed aware of or indeed cared to be. For example, Mr Norrell had never appeared to note that Drawlight almost always arrived at Hanover-square on foot, choosing to walk the fifteen minutes from Little Ryder-street rather than take a carriage. In fact, he was certain if he had never brought up the matter with his master he would admitted to having no knowledge of where Mr Drawlight called home, and never having any particular cause to. This was all part of Drawlight’s act. Indeed, Childermass was sure that before Drawlight had paraded his way into Norrell’s inner circle, many houses across London would have been nothing but stages for Drawlight to strut upon, a different character to play for each of his hosts. They accepted him at face value, never thinking to delve deeper.

Childermass’ knowledge of Drawlight contributed to why he felt uneasy on those rare occasions he found himself alone with him. One reason was that Drawlight should surely see no opportunity or gain from befriending Norrell’s unfashionable man of business, but despite this he was one of the only gentleman visitors to show him the slightest kindness. Childermass was also acutely aware of Drawlight’s persistent pantomime and so trusted him not one bit. It was why when Drawlight and Childermass had been left in the library to loiter and work respectively, the latter chose to ignore the former under the pretence of having a lot to do.

“Did I ever tell you, Childermass,” Drawlight began from the central table, “that when I first saw you I mistook you for Mr Norrell?” He turned his head towards the man he was speaking to and took a moment to notice how pleasantly his hair hung about his face as he wrote.

“No,” Childermass said to the letters on his desk, “but you have now.” He hoped that would be the end of the conversation.

“Indeed.” Drawlight twisted in his seat and turned to face Childermass fully before crossing his legs at the knee. “Before making Mr Norrell’s acquaintance I had quite the silly idea that a magician would appear mystical and untamed.” Slipping a finger under his watch chain, he began to twist and pull at it as he spoke. “You can understand why I thought you were London’s new magician.”

“I suppose so sir.” Still Childermass did not look up.

Some time passed before Drawlight spoke again. He was bored, and eager to press his point to get the rise he wanted out of the other man.

“I assumed that no one as mysterious and, handsome, as yourself could be a servant.”

Childermass peered up at Drawlight through his eyebrows. Men who swooned over diamonds, delicate lace and precious metals did not find people like Childermass handsome, and men who befriended such persons as Henry Lascelles certainly did not find people like Childermass agreeable in the slightest. There had to be a motive behind such flirtation. Drawlight’s hand was now worrying at the edge of his lower lip and there was a little more rouge to his cheeks than was usual. Childermass looked back down at his papers and swallowed. Sometimes it was best to say nothing.

“Oh, how easy it is to get under your skin Mr Childermass!” Drawlight cried out, giggling in that raucous way of his. He turned to gaze to the window and sighed theatrically. “If only it was as easy to get under those ghastly clothes of yours.”

Sometimes things could not be left without response, for silence could imply something as opposed to nothing. Childermass’ voice was strained, as though he had difficulty getting the words to break free from his mouth.

“I beg your pardon?”

If it had been Mr Lascelles who had said it, or even God forbid Mr Norrell, then Childermass’ immediate response would have been a flat laugh. But they had not said it, Drawlight had. As has been noted already, Childermass felt a certain uneasiness in Mr Drawlight’s company for a variety of credible reasons, but one that was neglected a mention (in part due to Childermass’ own reluctance to even consider such a notion) was that he found Drawlight infuriatingly alluring. Despite knowing full well that Drawlight was an abhorrent little narcissus, and the type of gentleman Childermass should rightly despise, he couldn’t help being bewitched by him. But that wasn’t it, not really. In truth, and to put it boldly, Childermass wanted to have him. Christopher Drawlight stirred up something deep in Childermass’ gut that had lain dormant for decades.

“How resplendent you'd look in navy Childermass, even a vibrant shade of green I dare say; they would certainly bring out the richness of your eyes.” Drawlight stood and sauntered across to Childermass’ desk as those rich eyes, lost within the gloom of his current (and constant) dress, locked onto his. “Your hair too, would look most elegant tied back in a dark ribbon.” Drawlight pulled his lower lip between his teeth as he slid one of Childermass’ loose forelocks behind his ear. “Just lovely.” Childermass had lost his ability to choose whether or not to respond to Drawlight. He found himself struck dumb, unable to do anything but stare up at the other man like a spellbound fool. Drawlight smiled widely enough for his white teeth to flash like pearls. “Yes indeed, I would very much enjoy having you, at my disposal.” He leant down, fingertips lightly framing Childermass’ jaw, and went to kiss him.

Coming to his senses, Childermass jerked away from the hand at his face. This was obviously a ruse, one of Mr Lascelles’ rotten schemes to disgrace Norrell’s man of business and vacate his role. Lascelles endeavoured to make himself indispensable to Norrell, and would go to any length. Drawlight on the other hand lacked such cunning and simply desired association among well-to-do people. It had to be Lascelles.

“How much is he paying you to try this on then?” Childermass spat. With enough money Childermass was certain Drawlight could be persuaded to do just about anything. Drawlight blinked, mouthing an inaudible string of whats and whos and appearing genuinely puzzled. When Childermass stood abruptly, almost knocking his chair over behind him, the puzzlement swiftly progressed to fear. “Lascelles! How much is he paying you?”

Both of Drawlight’s palms rose in surrender as he took a few small steps backward. Childermass came around his desk to follow him. He had no desire to have this argument across the library and quite fancied grabbing one of Drawlight’s sleeves or lapels to demonstrate his strong dislike of being played for a fool. Childermass was considerably taller and much broader than Drawlight, so if he chose to deal out his fury physically he would not stand a chance. It would not be the first time Drawlight had been on the receiving end of another man’s outrage either; he had never had much talent for keeping his infatuations to himself.

“Childermass please,” Drawlight stammered quickly, his thick eyelashes fluttering as he blinked back tears, “I’m a hare-brain, that’s all, I just very much wanted to kiss you, no one is paying me, I promise you, please forgive me?”

Childermass knew when Drawlight was lying. He had witnessed him lie often, when he’d pretended to listen to one of Mr Norrell’s lectures for instance, or proclaimed his enjoyment of Mr Lascelles’ editorial note in _The Friends_. Of course, from the soles of his cobbled shoes to the dark hair on his crown, Drawlight was a natural-born liar, for it was the only way he could survive in his chosen society. To Childermass’ surprise he was not lying now, and he hated to see him so frightened. He had never intended to cause him any harm, just get the truth out of him. He had not expected that truth to be so agreeable.

Drawlight babbled again in the shadow of Childermass’ advancing glare, trembling as he pleaded.

“Let us forget about the whole thing, no harm done, forgive me, I implore you.”

If Drawlight had not looked so forlorn Childermass might have been able to resist this temptation, but he believed in his innocence. More than that, he forgave Drawlight, and now that the shock of their near-kiss had subsided he allowed himself to want him again, much more resolutely than before. Perhaps he was a fool, but as Drawlight said, it was so damned easy for this doe-eyed little man to get under his skin.

As he slowly pushed Drawlight back toward the easterly bookcase Childermass’ mind was in pieces. The chaos of his thoughts shifted into several contrary voices, some shouting and others whispering, telling him that this was the most idiotic thing he might ever do, but also the most exciting. They told him there would be no difficulty at all in roughly having his way with Drawlight, yet he should treat him with the utmost care. There were those that reprimanded him for taking advantage of such a sweet young thing (for Childermass was many years Drawlight’s senior) and those that spurred him on because he deserved at least a little pleasure in his life. Still pushing Drawlight backward, he closed his eyes in an attempt to focus the thoughts into a singular voice, without such a distraction before him. As Drawlight’s back pressed against the bookcase he whimpered. The sound of it washed the thoughts from Childermass’ mind, like a wave crashing against a shore.

Opening his eyes, Childermass drank in the admittedly wonderful sight in front of him. Drawlight’s chest rose and fell quickly, his cheeks high with colour and his lips parted. He would wait for Childermass to make the move this time, wait and hope it would be one of passion and not of anger. Childermass raised his hand to Drawlight’s mouth, staring fixedly at the feminine shape of his cupid’s bow. That he might kiss it had his heart thrumming against his ribcage, his breath held tight in his lungs. As he drew the inky pad of his thumb across the other man’s lower lip, Drawlight leant forward, taking the tip into the velvet heat of his mouth. He sucked lightly. A groan rumbled from Childermass’ chest at the obscenity of it, of Drawlight’s petite lips wrapped around the girth of his thumb, and those dark shimmering eyes peering up at him as if seeking approval.

Drawlight sucked eagerly on Childermass’ thumb now he knew he'd not get a slap for it and used the opportunity to demonstrate just how good he could be with his mouth. When he circled the tip of his tongue against it Childermass gasped and tipped his head back to curse at the library ceiling. Continuing to suck and lick at the digit, Drawlight pressed a hand to Childermass’ chest, as if to test his sturdiness and prove to himself that this was reality and not a wet-dream following an excess of Claret.

Since the moment he first laid eyes upon John Childermass, Drawlight had found him extraordinarily striking. There was something about his fierce eyes, unruly hair and exotic complexion that intrigued and excited him significantly. That voice too, with its jarring accent several shades deeper and murkier than Mr Norrell’s, had slid itself up Drawlight’s spine on several occasions to push the hairs upon his nape to attention. In a room abundant with glittering jewels, another was easily overlooked; to Drawlight, someone as unique and improper as John Childermass was nothing but arresting.

Just as he took Childermass’ wide thumb deeper into the cavern of his mouth he felt him pull away. It had been a long while since Childermass had experienced intimacy and he did not want the anticipation of something he certainly should not be doing let him get ahead of himself. Pressing his face into the space above Drawlight’s shoulder he rested his forehead on the edge of the shelf and let out a long, shaky breath.

“I can’t do this,” he said, jaw clenched. His hand (the one that had just been in Drawlight’s mouth) moved to rest tenderly on Drawlight’s hipbone, “I – I shouldn’t.” Internally, Childermass was battling with his conscience again, the voices slowly rising from the sand, eager not to be washed away a second time. They told him that however tempting Drawlight was (and he was very), he could not fall for this - he could not let his guard down so completely.

“But you will,” Drawlight corrected, lifting himself up onto his toes to press his mouth to Childermass’ throat, “and you most definitely should.” He wasn’t even sure what Childermass was referring to, that which he could not do, but whatever it was Drawlight wanted it. He wrapped his arms around Childermass’ shoulders and held onto him tightly, desperate for him not to retreat. Pressing little kisses to the rough of Childermass’ jaw he turned his head slowly, creeping ever closer to his plump, panting mouth. Blinking his long eyelashes so they tickled at the skin of Childermass’ cheek he begged, “Kiss me, please.”

When Childermass kissed him, it was with one of those deep, rigorous kisses that had Drawlight’s toes curling in his shoes. He clung to Childermass for dear life throughout, as though he might collapse should he let go. Childermass’ desperation was evident in the way he nipped at Drawlight’s lips, how deeply he dipped his tongue into Drawlight’s mouth, and the overzealous way in which he gripped Drawlight’s hair. He grabbed at him everywhere, anxious to get closer, to taste and devour every exquisite inch of silk and linen Drawlight was draped in. His scent too, so fresh and floral, seemed intrinsically connected to Childermass’ groin. When he felt Drawlight’s hardened prick press into his thigh he moaned in surprise, having almost forgotten that beneath his fine exterior Drawlight was just as masculine as he was.

Drawlight was easy to lift. Once his behind was perched on the bookcase's lower shelf, Childermass settled himself impatiently between his legs, lifting a nimble thigh to wrap around his waist and encouraging it to grip. One of Drawlight’s court shoes came off in the process and so he lost the other purposefully, pressing both of his stockinged heels into the firm curve of Childermass’ back and shuddering at how considerably robust he was. There was something else too, that had Drawlight trembling irrepressibly. With their hips as flush as they were, Drawlight could feel the full weight and shape of Childermass’ excitement. Pulling him closer with his toes, he let out a sharp gasp when Childermass thrust, the width of his hips spreading his thighs mercilessly further apart.

“You are - very beautiful,” Childermass said between rasps of breath. Drawlight squealed in delight, for he adored praise, particularly when it was praise of his appearance and especially when it was given by someone who rarely praised anything. Childermass’ tongue pressed against the sliver of skin visible above Drawlight’s crisp, white collar, then traced the angle of his jaw. He worried about being too rough with such a fragile, delicate little fellow, but Drawlight was about to prove just how sturdy he was when he wanted to be.

“I want this,” Drawlight breathed, shoving his hand between their bodies and pressing it against Childermass’ prick. Childermass huffed out a hot breath in response, his teeth coming to bite at Drawlight’s earlobe.

“Where?” he asked.

“In my mouth, in my backside, wherever you want John.” Drawlight relished the opportunity of uttering the Christian name of his intimate partners during the act; upon repeating it later in company he hoped to remind them of their encounter and had driven many a man to distraction with that particular tactic. He also hoped it would urge them to do the same, as he was quite sure there was nothing better than hearing Christopher muttered into his ear as he was buggered. “Let’s retire to your room and make use of your bed.” Drawlight tried to shuffle down from the shelf but Childermass stopped him.

“We can’t, not here.” Even in his ruffled state Childermass knew it was far too risky to allow Drawlight anywhere in the house but the library. Not only might Norrell and Lascelles return from the Commons at any moment but Childermass had no desire for the house staff to have fuel for rumours – this departure from his senses was embarrassing enough.

“Then here will suffice,” Drawlight said, pushing Childermass back quickly so he had no time to quarrel. He dropped to his knees (showing no concern for the state this might make of his breeches) and hurriedly began unfastening the fall of Childermass’ breeches.

“Drawlight,” Childermass protested, stepping back an inch before his hips were held firmly in place by the other man. He went to protest a second time, to explain that this was ridiculous and dangerous, but when Drawlight slid a hand into the opening of his fly and gripped his swollen prick through his smallclothes, words left him and the only sound he could make was a rather undignified “ugh”.

It all happened so fast. Childermass found himself against the bookcase, the back of his thighs now pressed where Drawlight had been perched just moments before. Drawlight’s tongue was delightfully hot against the underside of his prick, and his petite mouth was stretched to its limit around the circumference of the tip. One of his dainty hands curled around the base and gripped lightly. Drawlight was silently impressed and unspeakably aroused by the sheer size of it. Looking down at the divine sight below him, Childermass felt light-headed.

“Christ!” he grunted, gritting his teeth as Drawlight began to move, his pretty mouth filled completely by just half of him. Gently he bobbed his head with the same speed as skilled strokes of his hand. Childermass grasped at Drawlight’s hair with one hand (the other clutching onto a bookshelf) and swallowed at the intensity of it all. It was almost impossible to resist canting his hips into that delightful mouth, but he had no desire to choke him. When Drawlight’s free hand made its way to Childermass’ balls to knead them briefly, Childermass could not help but buck.

When he thrust, Childermass’ prick could go no deeper so nudged the back of Drawlight’s throat instead, forcing a wonderfully submissive noise out of him. Drawlight would have preferred Childermass’ prick be at its deepest between his legs but was hopeful the opportunity was not lost. Once tempted, and given the occasion, Childermass was most definitely willing. When they were in a place more convenient than Mr Norrell’s stuffy library, Drawlight would happily lie back and have Childermass kiss him all over, describe to him (in great detail) just how pretty he is, and sodomise him in that rough, unsophisticated way of his until they both forgot their own names. The thought of it gave him pause, requiring a cease of his attentions on Childermass for a moment to just breathe and close his eyes tight.

“Don’t,” Childermass begged, assuming Drawlight had changed his mind about the whole affair, “please!” When Drawlight peered up at him, Childermass’ head was tipped back against the spines of the books, his mouth hanging open as he heaved. It was quite the sight and Drawlight was forced to use his free hand to touch himself, if only to ease the ache of his arousal a little.

Applying his mouth thoroughly to Childermass once more, Drawlight tasted the leaked tang of his excitement on his tongue, a precursor of what was soon to follow. Childermass positively groaned at the renewed contact, lifting himself from the bookshelf to mouth and mumble and lose every semblance of dignity. Drawlight, who was somewhat practised in these matters, knew very well that men liked to look at him when they spent in his mouth. That was why when Childermass hissed, bending over to grab at his face with both hands, tilt it back and hold it still, Drawlight knew what to expect.

As he came off Childermass cried out, spilling into Drawlight’s mouth and over the flat of his tongue. Drawlight swallowed greedily, staring unabashedly at the other man as he did. When Childermass’ grip softened on the sides of his head Drawlight pulled back, licking the very tip of Childermass’ prick with the point of his tongue, forcing another jolt from him. Coming to stand, he snaked his way up Childermass’ body, pressing kisses to his stomach and chest on his journey. Without his shoes, Drawlight was not as tall as before, so was required to reach a hand up to Childermass’ head and pull it down to kiss him. Only Childermass did not kiss him. Instead, he raised a hand to Drawlight’s mouth once again to touch it in wonder, a fingertip tracing the wet, swollen rim of his lips as he struggled to steady his breathing.

“What would you like,” Childermass whispered, a daft smile on his face Drawlight had never seen him wear before, “in return?” He was more than happy to reciprocate such a remarkable favour.

As Childermass refastened the buttons of his breeches, Drawlight positioned himself so his stockinged feet were planted either side of one of his sturdy thighs. Demonstrating how excited he remained with a forward press of his hips, he made his intention clear.

“This will do for now,” he said, indicating that he would happily rub himself, fully clothed, against the breadth of Childermass’ thigh until he met his own end. Content with this, Childermass bent down to kiss him, lifting his knee a little in the space between Drawlight’s legs, feeling him shiver in response.

There was a noise in the hall, quite recognisable to both of them as the front door opening. The sound of footsteps, identifiable as Norrell’s hurried pace and Lascelles’ large strides, had Drawlight and Childermass parting in an instant to return to appropriate places within the library. Childermass almost tripped over his own feet to get to his desk and Drawlight (who was adept with re-dressing at a moment’s notice) slipped his feet into his shoes and took back his seat at the table. Norrell and Lascelles had returned much sooner than anticipated and as Norrell shoved his way through the library door it was obvious their appointment had not gone well.

“I told you,” Lascelles said, rolling his eyes at such an overreaction on Mr Norrell’s part, “today was the date he gave me!” Norrell ignored him and set himself to angrily tidying his desk. “He shall come to us next time sir. If a man in his position cannot keep to his word then we should not be expected to pursue him any further.” Lascelles took his seat at the table, where the papers and letters he had neglected to hunt down a forgetful Lord, patiently waited for him.

“A wasted journey and a complete waste of my valuable time,” Norrell announced, slumping into his chair and pressing fingers to his forehead. “Childermass, ask Lucas to fetch some tea, Mr Lascelles and I have been riding about London all morning without sustenance and are thirsty.”

Childermass nodded and stood, eager to do anything but sit in mortification.

“Yes sir.”

Drawlight busied himself with taking snuff and for once seemed disinterested in who had done what and why Mr Norrell was so infuriated. If Norrell or Lascelles had concerned themselves with speaking to him, they would have found that despite his composed exterior, Drawlight was quite unable to say one word at present.

When the tea was poured and the usual calm of the library returned, Childermass made his way over to Drawlight as he sipped his tea. He spoke at his normal volume, as to do otherwise would only seem suspicious.

“Regarding our discussion earlier sir, I think we should put the matter to bed as it were.” Lascelles looked up from the letter he was writing, his expression that of someone whose nostrils had just been invaded by a violent odour. Drawlight nodded in agreement despite having little clue to what Childermass was on about. “What you said, I agree. I’ve had time to mull it over, and I agree.”

“Very good,” Drawlight said, beginning to understand – this would not be the end of their caper. Childermass would make sure Drawlight was compensated for what was lost by his master’s premature return. The very thought had Drawlight’s palms slick, forcing him to put his teacup back down. Childermass returned to his desk, to continue the work he had abandoned in favour of something better.

“What was he referring to?” Lascelles pried, putting down his quill and leaning over the table. “What were you discussing?” Lascelles disliked anyone speaking to Drawlight when he was not in attendance, as Drawlight had the frustrating tendency of talking openly to everyone. With the right amount of wine in him he had also been known to spill things told to him in the strictest confidence. Besides, Drawlight was his toy and one he wanted no one else playing with.

“Oh, we were just,” Drawlight thought fast, “in dispute, over which of London’s parks is the prettiest.” Drawlight picked up his teacup again, as if using it as a shield. Lascelles scowled and Drawlight assumed his rather obvious lie had been seen straight through.

“Why would you care for the opinion of that?” Lascelles made sure to ask it loudly enough for Childermass to overhear. He had developed quite a skill for insulting Childermass in front of his master without Norrell ever realising.

“My dearest Henry, I was only humouring him,” Drawlight assured his friend with a sweeping gesture of his hand, “his knowledge of that area is quite laughable, really.”

Lascelles’ mouth turned up into that awfully superior smile of his where he is required to purse his lips to stop from chuckling. He seemed content with that, as he was with anything that disparaged Childermass. Picking up his quill he returned to his work none the wiser.

These days Drawlight never really did anything in Mr Norrell’s library, but he had the quite the talent of making it seem the opposite. Taking out his handkerchief he began to fold it neatly into a half, then quarter. As his hands busied themselves with the cloth he peered over at Childermass; he was not expecting to find him doing the same, scribbling away but looking elsewhere, looking at him. They shared a smile before Childermass returned his concentration in full to the work at hand, his face resetting to its typical blankness. Drawlight’s stomach fluttered, for soon Childermass’ gaze, and that secret smile of his, would be upon him properly, and there was nothing Drawlight liked more than that special sort of attention.


End file.
